


Revolution, Torture, Death, and What To Do After the Fact

by Illmerica



Category: Homestuck
Genre: Character Study, Drabble Collection, Dream Bubbles, Multi, Multiple Timelines
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-01-23
Updated: 2016-02-28
Packaged: 2018-05-13 20:37:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,707
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/5716282
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Illmerica/pseuds/Illmerica
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>YOU ARE THE SIGNLESS, THE SUFFERER, KANKRI VANTAS, AND YOU ARE DEAD.<br/>==></p>
            </blockquote>





	1. The Land of Signs and Suffering

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is just the introduction to something I've fiddled with for a while now; I've decided that if I actually post it, then I'm technically still being productive when I work on it instead of things that people actually want to read.

YOU ARE THE SIGNLESS, THE SUFFERER, KANKRI VANTAS, AND YOU ARE DEAD.

==>

You die in the display of highblood domination and desperation that you had, both at once, dreaded and expected your entire life. An execution put on display. It's typical, depressing.

It had burned you with anger in the moment though, a righteous fury at the world and the people who dared to pollute it with their cruel ideals and practices upon those who could not stand to fight them. It boiled in the blood that condemned you in ways you had never allowed before, not while you traveled and preached and hoped.

You bubbled and frothed, with screams from those who had loved you with all of themselves and you have loved back with just as much strength fresh in your ears; it boiled and boiled and boiled, crisp like the flesh from your wrists, _hot_ , until all you could do was allow it to spill from your lips and into the air, to taint them with your mutant words and mutant passion. A final sermon for Alternia to hear—to _deny_ —of a land known as Beforus, of a cycle of revenge that never stopped its spin, of a wave of fury that would never end. They brought it upon themselves, your followers and your rebellion, and you would be sure that a second Sufferer would follow and would destroy Alternia for its sins.

Then you died and it all seemed quite melodramatic, in retrospect.

Death leaves you bored and aimless.

You aren’t free from a physical form but you somehow lack one as well, and you are left completely alone to be enveloped in memories of the world you’ve left behind. After some time you find that it’s either your false Alternia or the great expanse of nothingness that consumes the rest of the dead realm you reside in, of Horrorterrors that like to whisper in your ears words you can’t hope to understand. You remain in Alternia.

It isn’t a comfort, not with the phantoms of your old life. It isn’t a slow caress of feeling across your mind either though.

Dolorosa is a nothing but a ghost in your new world, a shadow who’s stolen her face for its purposes. You don’t outright dislike her—the constant reminder of the troll who raised you is somewhat of a forced memory you'll happily accept, of what you’ve done and what you’ve lost, as is the yellow glow of her eyes and the white sparkle of her skin you know she had much better control of then her imposter—but you don’t speak to her either, not if you’re able to avoid it. The Disciple is similar, but you do allow yourself the occasional conversation with the Psiioniic’s double. His sense of humor is close enough to settle you on the worst of metaphorical days, the closest you find to a companionship in your loneliness.

Sometimes a face of purple will appear in your caves or hideouts or the fields of your sermons, with it’s smeared gray paints and crooked nose, teeth spread so wide you think they’ll wish to eat you whole if you let yourself get too close. The smell of burnt meat in the air and outlines of stoic blue will always follow.

Those are the worst of days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This story won't have a set length I'll aim for per chapters as my other stories do, so some might be somewhat long and some might be somewhat short. It'll just depend.
> 
> Also, tags will be added as the chapters they relate to come out.


	2. The Land of Knowledge and Distress

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Next chapter I have written up. 
> 
> Not sure how long I want to wait until I post the next one, I guess I'll post it in a couple days or so.

What might be sweeps pass you in the afterlife, sweeps upon sweeps upon more deplorable sweeps. You lose count of how old you never were after ten thousand.

You don’t know how long you’ve been outside of existence before the hot sands of the desert spurt the remains of a small hive, razed to the ground by what looks to have been a fire and now covered by the far reaching grip of old vines. A small girl accompanies the changes, rust in blood but full in spirit. You can’t help but notice her eyes lack the ghastly white glow of your own, or the delicate wings that happen to sprout from her back. Is it a mutation?

Well, it wasn’t as if it was your place to judge one for being different. It was no troll's, really.

"hi"

She takes your hand in both of hers, much smaller and frailer, the hands of a child, and leads you past the sands into a land you’ve never seen before, made from beautiful blue crystals with tall towers of gold among the brightness; small creatures colored teal skitter across the smooth surface from the young girl, as if they’re scared, and you’ve never been one to question the nature of instincts of fate. You fall out of silence, as you haven't for sweeps, and let her guide you.

"Where are we?" You ask. The crystal is cold enough on your bare feet to feel it, a _chill_ , a sensation you haven’t felt since you’d become numb to your version of Alternia at three hundred sweeps. You revel in it. "Who are you?"

The troll giggles into her free palm and releases yours, flies ahead, seats herself on a larger chunk of crystal and looks down. In the sky, two moons lumber by in slow serenity. "aradia megido" She says. "i act as a guide in the dreambubbles but it looks like i missed you"

"Pleased to meet you." You greet. It's only polite.

"likewise" She giggles again, and it's cute and innocent in a way you can tell she isn’t, then pauses. "well that isnt exactly true i didnt completely miss you" Aradia looks up in contemplation. "i think a stray aradiabot from the black king’s battle found its way here after the vast glub destroyed it but" She shrugs. "it will be ages ago when that happens" Her gaze moves back down to where you stand below her and she grins.

Some of those are terms you don’t recognize and she knows this when she uses them, it's obvious she must. It’s supposed to be a test, you realize, to see if you were modest enough to demean yourself in front of a child. Clever. You can respect her quick wit. A ploy to test whether she could share information with you—a ploy to allow her to judge your character—wasn’t what one would have expected from the average troll wriggler, even on Alternia.

Still, it was a nonsensical test. In life, your status as a leader hadn’t changed your position as a student, in a constant state of hunger for knowledge. It was as much of your job to teach the trolls you encountered as it was to learn from them. Death did little to change that, and you can tell that what she has to tell you will be able to sate the famine that has gnawed at your mind since you died and awoke in a world you no longer belonged to.

You clear your throat. "Excuse me, but may I ask for more of an explanation Aradia?"

Her smile grows like she expected nothing less of you. "youre dead"

You agree nonetheless. "I am. I have been for a long time." It doesn't hurt to say as it should, because it's simply stating facts and you're mature enough to accept them. You've been mature enough for over an eternity now.

"youre dead but you still exist out here in the dreambubbles"

"Are you saying that you know why that is?"

"in another life you lived on beforus" Aradia rests her palms on the outcrop and leans down toward you. "you remember it dont you" She asks.

Another life? A world of peace and happiness, where mutant scum could know and converse with a rustblood and a fuchsiablood, from top to bottom, everything else in between; where death didn’t act as a constant threat to behave, to worry for when a drone would find itself on your doorstep, but instead a reminder to live life to its fullest until it ended itself through nature’s will, not that of another troll; where to cull meant to care; where an Empress known as the Compassion ruled, not the _Condescension_ , where she worried for her subjects until she was beaten to death with them from space rocks. A life on Beforus.

"Yes, I remember it."

"good" Aradia leans back, begins to kick her feet back and forth. "in that universe you were kankri vantas and you played a game called sgrub with eleven of your friends a game that required you to both destroy your universe and create a new one" She explains with a cheery grin that hasn’t left since she appeared. "your session lasted for six years and your group lost"

It’s odd to hear the name the Dolorosa christened you with when she took you into her care again. You had never thought you would hear the name Kankri again, not after you were titled the Signless. It's odd, most definitely, but you find you don't mind.

"Were you of Beforus?" You ask.

Maybe she had known you on that world, maybe she was the rustblood you remembered, even tempered and sad.

Aradia laughs, like the mere idea is ridiculous. "no im from alternia like you are" She stifles another chortle behind her hand, as she had earlier. "just much later in the timeline"

You nod.

Aradia continues. "sgrub has a function that allows for a hard reset of the game called the scratch that give players another chance at winning and your group decided it would be better to active the scratch then to wait in a null session until you all died of natural causes" Aradia says. "that hard reset is what made alternia in replacement of beforus and what allowed my friends and i to play instead of you and yours" 

"Does that mean your group has won?"

Aradia shrugs. "yes and no" You blink at her and she flaps a hand. "we made our new universe but there was a glitch that destroyed the prize before we could technically claim it" Aradia says. "right now most of our group is dead and wandering around in the dreambubbles while the four that survived are trying to work with the aliens from the new universe"

The idea that mere wrigglers _dying_ —so so young and so so unfair, why would such a terrible game _exist_ —for the sake of almost nothing hurts you somewhere in your heart, more then the experience of your own death ever could have. 

"I’m sorry." You tell her in earnest and she waves you off again.

"dont be" She says, and then wistfully adds. "theyre happier now"

It doesn’t make you feel better, doesn’t calm the disruptive storm that ravages your mind, but Aradia seems confident that she’s correct, and given her obvious experience and association with the other wrigglers you’re in no place to disagree. You force yourself another nod.

"anyway the dreambubbles are where dead players go and since you were a player on beforus you were placed in one at the time of your execution the same can be said for the other trolls you knew who played sgrub on beforus" Aradia pauses, contemplative. "really its strange you havent bumped into someone elses bubble after all this time with how many there are out there"

You think you’ve seen the other bubbles actually, small blips of light amongst the dark bodies of the Horrorterrors that bounced along as time passed. You had always avoided them, unsure of what they were. It was silly, you had known. You _knew_. Death has had its hands on your shoulders for quite some time, what else could touch you?

The world shifts, and you can feel the same slight nudge you had when Aradia entered your bubble. Without warning, some of the crystals burst into flames. You can't help but start, though Aradia doesn’t do more than blink in surprise at the fire. In the distance a voice calls out, obscured. More of the small blue creatures you’d seen earlier dart from between the crystals in fear and Aradia’s smile shrinks, into a face mixed of confusion. She brightens again when she sees you look at her in concern.

"a friend of mine" Aradia explains with a gesture towards the flames.

"From your group?"

She laughs again. "yeah" Aradia shakes her head in mirth, before she looks at you again. "thats the jist of it all but im sure youll pick the rest up quick" Aradia pushes off the crystal and flutters down to meet you back on the ground, keeping herself in the air and from the ground so you would remain at eye level. "any quick questions" She tilts her head again, like a curious beast.

There were thousands, millions, of questions. Your mind was overrun by the mass of inquires, from your Beforus self’s Sgrub to her own, to what the young aliens they created were like—maybe _they_ had found a peace amongst themselves, they hadn’t inherited the warlike ways of the trolls and found _happiness_ with their race until they played Sgrub themselves—or how exactly the dreambubbles functioned. Why were you in such close quarters to the Horrorterrors? Why hadn't they _killed_ you yet? None can find their way through your lips though, so you stare at her instead.

"i know its a lot to take and well i wasnt expecting to have to leave so early but now that ive found you itll be easier to come back to your bubble if you need me" Her hands are both holding one of yours again and her face is honest, excited, like it’s all another adventure for her. You wonder if you were so alive in your own youth. "promise"

"Thank you for your time, Aradia. I appreciate your efforts to help me."

You reclaim your hand, because a guide of the dreambubbles seems like an important job, and what right would you have to keep her occupied if there was another that needed her guidance more? You’re just an old man in the face of this child, old and senile most likely.

The thought almost makes you want to laugh when it passes through your mind.

You’d never referred to yourself as _old_ before, not when raised by an immortal jadeblood.

"youre welcome" Aradia does a mock curtsey and stifles another giggle. "maybe youll have an easier time finding more bubbles so you wont be alone for so long again just keep an open mind mr signless" Aradia smiles and you find it in yourself to smile back. "bye"

You watch her turn back and speed off into the air—fly with the grace you've only ever seen a featherbeast fly—then touch down onto the crystal ground again. Another troll strolls out past a jagged wall of stone, where patches of what appears to be brains swell and move in clusters, as if alive. Her wings almost obscure the newcomer, but you can make out just enough of him to make you freeze.

You know that face. That had been one of the last faces you’d ever seen on Alternia, tear soaked and covered by goggles of the imperial fuchsia shade. Now they hold one white eye and one black, both burned out in a most violent fashion. Your stomach clenches.

"fuckiin fiinally AA iive been lookiing everywhere." You can only just hear him, make out the lisp. He puts a hand on her shoulder, long fingers twitching back and forth. "a huge 2hiit 2how ju2t went down iin the alpha liine. they all ju2t went up and diied and no one could fiind you. everyone’2 lo2iing theiir gogdamn miind2 over iit."

Aradia’s head moves in a nod and she offers one final wave over her shoulder at you, before the two take off into the sky and disappear, out of your bubble, you presume. The crystal landscape and the brains and fire disappear with them. 

You wouldn’t say it’s one of your worse days, but you still curl into Psiioniic’s arms like a wriggler again and listen to his voice loop until you feel like moving again.

Another sweep passes in solitary and you find you don't mind it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hope my Sufferer is okay. He doesn't really have a set personality, so I'll do the best I can to keep him 'in character' throughout this whole thing.


	3. The Land of Peace and the Unknown

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So I tore a muscle in my side while asleep?? I'd say I can't believe it but at this point in my life things like this might as well happen.

Your next visitor isn’t a single troll, or _troll_ at all, it’s a group of three human children, the aliens Aradia had mentioned; small and wrongly colored without horns or teeth or fangs, just defenseless young aliens.

You find you like them. You like _Earth_.

It’s everything you could have hoped for.

"The simplest way to explain it is to compare it to Alternia’s hemocastes, though with not such strict placement. A human’s skin tone wouldn’t condemn them to death if it were different from those around them, at least not in current history, but it could make them more likely to suffer from the violence of others or be accused of crimes than others with lighter shades." Rose Lalonde has the wit and silvertongue of a highblood and conducts herself as such. Her eyes betray her though, show the sparkle of excitement she gets as she explains Earth culture to you, the life of a wriggler. "It didn’t indicate class either, as it was possible for someone of a darker skin tone to be upper class, though it was less likely than a caucasian."

It’s fascinating to listen to their culture, to absorb the world they lived in through their own tales of Earth. You can imagine it the longer she speaks, make out the city and the names, understand the quaint terms. Caucasian — European — white. It’s a race on their planet; the highblood, the seadwellers.

Aradia’s visit had urged you to dig into your own realm, to practice the odds and ends you’d known you were capable but too afraid to practice in your lonesome. You learned that you held the ability to morph your surroundings, to manipulate them at your own will instead of simply following theirs. Aradia’s explanation of Beforus, of Sgrub, of _you_ were replayed and rewatched, until you felt you understood.

You also learned to control your visions, to channel them into something other than flashes of a long dead child whose life was even more fulfilling than your own.

You can gain knowledge from those you interact with, the words they say or the ways they move, and with enough concentration you’ve learned to envision moments from their lives, to put yourself into their places and _experience_. It’s helpful with such a complicated situation you’ve found yourself enveloped in.

Now you can see Earth too, clear with its nonbiological technology and its small people—they rarely grow taller than six feet, if even that, and you can’t even _imagine_ —and its simple ways. Its occasional bloodless wars and it’s less occasional bloodied ones, its peoples’ attempts so stop such violence at the costs of their own lives. Its evil. Its kindness. Its faults and defects, and perfection, all at once. Human Earth.

You like Earth.

"And what of mutations? How do your people treat those different from them in ways other than appearance, but in ways of genetics?"

Rose smiles a mysterious smile, as if she had expected you to ask something of that nature. "For the most part we do our best to care for them if they're disabled by any faulty genetics, though there are bigots on Earth as there are on Alternia. It’s always been somewhat of an uphill battle but I would say we're possibly a step or two above culling."

It sounds like Beforus. It sounds wonderful. You couldn’t have dreamed of a better progression, not with Beforus itself spread out before your very eyes.

Out from the distance a voice calls out. "rose hey rose! come look at this! there’s another troll out here!"

She looks at you, eyebrow raised and poised, and you give her a smile, wave for her to go. It was just one of your constructs from Alternia, the Dolorosa or Psiioniic most likely. Young children were always curious, no matter the race. You found it charming. By the time she floats over the jungle-covered hill—Hell Murder Island; the name sticks in the funniest of ways, lusii alive and wild—spotted by puddles of rainbow rain—Land of Light and Rain; beautiful, painful to the eyes—you decide you like their company too much and follow after.

As you’d thought, the other two young humans stand with the Dolorosa, her face impassive but gentle. She brushes her claws through their wild dark hair and wipes at smudges of dirt.

"Excuse me ma’am but i think thats quite alright! I, i can handle myself just dandy!"

Jake English is excitable and earnest, in a way that almost reminds you of the Disciple’s own attitude. Ready to tackle life, whether life is ready for him. He’s also the only human of the group who isn’t currently dead, but instead simply asleep.

As it turns out, the human aliens had to Scratch their session as well, and Jake was a partial product of said restart. He’s been in the progress of his session for months now, though Rose disclosed to you soon after he left to explore that his timeline was doomed, soon to fall into a chaotic bloodbath between the four players. It twisted your heart in ways you couldn’t explain, to see the bright lights of his eyes and know that there were soon to be as white your own.

John Egbert, on the other hand, is also deceased, murdered early in their session from an unfortunate encounter with a particularly powerful imp. He was similar to Jake in terms of lightheartedness, but even you could tell the boy had somewhat more common sense between the two. Still, he was a sweet soul, more cornered with the others around him than himself. Immature but delighted, you found his presence nothing but bright.

He and Rose had apparently wandered the bubbles together since his death, both from the same timeline.

"hahah! it looks like she likes you dude!"

"Im afraid blue ladies are more my cup of tea." Jake blushes, bright ruddy red across his face. "Though i hope you dont take offense ma’am!" He adds, quickly, his eyes away in a bout of nervousness. You try your hardest not to chuckle at the good nature of the situation, and _just_ manage to succeed.

Rose floats over and touches down by John’s side, leans towards him in what you suppose is meant to be subtle. It isn't, but you don't think it's your place to comment. "The Dolorosa?" She asks.

"Indeed."

"But not the actual Dolorosa’s ghost?"

You pause. "No."

Jake tilts his head, looks the doppelganger back over once, twice, thrice. He bites his lip with teeth so blunt it amazes you. _Humans_ , such wonderful creatures. "Would one of you chaps care to explain just what a dolorosa is?"

"it’s not a dolorosa jake." John inserts with a wag of his finger, so harmless. They don't even have _claws_. How do they defend themselves against threats?  "it’s THE dolorosa. rose says she was pretty badass!"

"That might be one way to describe her, yes." You do let yourself chuckle at that.

"If I’ve been told correctly, the Dolorosa was the troll who raised the Sufferer, something that was terribly uncommon in troll culture. She also happened to be a Rainbow Drinker." Her face turned into somewhat of a gentle smile, distant. "A trait common in the Maryam family, as I’ve learned."

"So its some title of sorts?"

"yup! you didn’t really think that his name was signless or sufferer or whatever, did you?"

Jake rubs the back of his neck. His face is still red but he smiles, tentative and embarrassed. "I mightve."

Both Rose and John laugh at that, and you withhold the urge to pat their heads, to lower yourself to your level and tell each of these children just how much they mean to the world, despite their deaths. How much good they’ve done while they lived. It’s not an unfamiliar sensation, one you’d experienced quite often in fact, but it’s been millennia to your lonesome. You haven’t ushered wrigglers into your arms to comfort them since your nights with your other revolutionaries. It’s nostalgic.

You wonder why you’d ever thought yourself smart to avoid the others bubbles when the company was so plentiful. Even the strange aliens and their strange customs bring you more joy than any nightdream your memories concocted ever could.

You were a fool, but nothing if not a student of life’s long-learned lessons.

Jake’s form begins to flicker and his eyes go wide, hands reaching out to clutch at the air. "Wha—?" He stumbles forward and almost trips over himself; you reach out to steady him and your single palm covers his entire shoulder.

Rose leans closer, curious. "Are you waking up?"

"Well i dont right think so." Jake blinks at the air. He pats at your arm as if to remind himself you were real, then shoots an embarrassed smile when he realizes he’s doing it. "I wouldnt know anything my chums would need of me."

"maybe it was one of those ‘i almost woke up but didn’t’ kind of things. they happened to me all the time." John suggests with a shrug. You can't stop yourself from frowning when you notice his use of past tense. "i mean it would suck if you left right now, you pretty much just got here! i haven’t even gotten to ask you about nana yet!"

He blinks again. "Nana who?"

Rose snorts but it’s playful. "I believe he means your friend Jane."

"Jane? Oh, jane!" His eyes widen and he blushes again, bites at his lip. "She’s a stand-up gal alright, but me and her have found ourselves in quite the kerfuffle at the moment. I can't say its much anyone fault but my own though, mine and this in and out gourde up on my neck."

"i have no idea what any of that meant." John admits.

Jake jumps into an oblong explanation of what sounds like quadrant troubles between his group, the same excitement he holds for everything in his voice, despite the topic.

You wonder if it’s these very problems that end with a slaughter of children.

Still, it’s pleasant to sit on one of the thickly overgrown roots that breach through the soil and listen to him speak of what sounds like simple problems and friendship, through Rose and John’s hums of interest. You lean your head back and watch the thick gray clouds float by, the peaks of a rainbow sky from beyond it. Desert sand from the grublands is piled beneath your feet, hot and comfortable. The Dolorosa stands beside you with a sheen to her skin, even beneath the smog, and takes your hand. You let her.

You absorb the world as Jake tells it, of the tall buildings from the Land of Tombs and Krypton, how the air _burns_ if you forget to wear a gas mask so you always have to make sure to keep it tight, keep it secured. Words of a blue too light and soft to be cerulean with their odd behavior that even from his perspective you have trouble when you try to discern what they say and a face to match, a face like John’s with softer and wider edges. Pink fizzles around the edges of your vision, but Jake doesn’t delve far enough into that information for you to fully grasp at the images.

It's so peaceful; you could fall asleep like this, if you weren’t already dead.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> At this point, I'm open to anyone's suggestions as to who Signless should interact with, whether they be a canon timeline character or one you just want to make up. Leave it in a review and I'll see what I can do. Other ancestors are off limits though, I've got plans for them.


	4. The Land of Distrust and Intrigue

Chilled water laps at your feet, refreshingly blue, while soft pink leaves drift down from the massive tree behind you and its accompanying hive. Little colored scalemates sway in the breeze from strings. Compasses hang in the sky, nothing but impressions against an unnatural blue. You wonder who you’ll meet this time.

You don’t expect it when something wet and cold touches up the back of your neck.

You don’t expect it _so much_ that when you jerk away in surprise you tip forward into the water. It’s much colder when your entire body is submerged.

"K4RKL3S? S1NC3 WH3N D1D YOU SOUND SO M4NLY!"

A second voice scoffs and the water around you disappears, replaces itself with sharp dull stones. You’re now in a valley with a great hive perched above you at the top of the cliff, the tree behind you unchanged. A large gaping pit sits in front of you like something is meant to bide there, something quite large.

You’re still soaked but all it takes is a moment to will the water away, and you’re dry once again. You never learned how to swim, trolls who aren’t born with gills never are, but you would like to think you didn’t panic as much as the situation called for. Standing back up is much harder than it should have been though, what with how much effort it takes to still the instinctual quiver in your hands.

Two young troll girls stand behind you, tall and short, thin and thinner, cerulean and teal. One has teeth like pinpricks and eyes seared the same red as your veins, leaned against a cane with a dragon’s head. Her tongue is poked out like she wants to taste the air itself and her face is twisted up in confusion as she sniffs at the air. The other wriggler cocks her hips and sneers, all eight pupils focused at you. Wings flutter behind her, the dark blues distasteful with the bright yellows of her clothes.

Not dead. Maybe they’re from the alleged alpha timeline then. It might be considered rude to ask them about their timeline though if they aren’t willing to share, you’re still poor when it comes to experience about the etiquette that comes with these things.

"Oh come on Terezi, you aren't stupid. That isn't Karkat. That's an adult.” She spits the word like poison, and you can’t find it in yourself to be offended. You know how adults treated wrigglers on homeworld.

The other girl perks. "4DULT?" Unlike her friend, she doesn’t seem suspicious of you. Excited might be a better word. "1T MUST B3 ON3 OF TH3 4NC3STORS!" She gasps, hands pressed to her cheeks in a gesture that doesn’t look as wrigglerish as it should. "1TS K4RK4TS 4NC3STOR VR1SK4!"

"And just how did you come up with that?"

You think she rolls her eyes. "DUH. SN1FF-O-V1S1ON. I C4N SM3LL TH3 D3L1C1OUS C4NDY R3D THROUGH H1S SK1N!"

You regard them both for a moment, and decided that it would probably be best now to interrupt. "Excuse me." You say. They turn to you, Vriska quick and tense and Terezi attentive and thrilled. "Who would you girls be? I don’t think I’ve met either of you before." You’ve seen glimpses of them before, from other visitors’ memories, but you’ve never interacted with them personally, and it would be unfair to make your entire impression of the girls based upon what others thought of them.

Vriska narrows her eyes. "W8 you don’t know us?" She growls.

"I can’t say I really do."

"C4LM YOUR RUMBL3 SPH3R3S VR1SK4 H3S OBV1OUSLY NOT 4 THR34T. 1 M34N 1F H3 W4S H3 WOULDV3 PROB4BLY MURD3R3D M3 FOR L1CK1NG H1S N3CK." Terezi scolds with a grin and reaches out, paps her face without hesitation. Vriska flushes cerulean and darts her eyes away from you; Terezi snickers.

You can’t say you’re disturbed at the admittance that she _licked_ you, which really isn’t the oddest thing a troll has done to you upon meeting, but you wonder just _why_ she did it. If she thought there was a chance you would kill her for it, that is. It almost makes you want to lecture her to take caution to her own safety, but you had the feeling it wouldn’t be taken very well by at least one of them. Perhaps it was the knowledge that you were dead; what harm could an old ghost do to a living being?

"I think I would rather not cull anyone, whether they’ve licked me or not. It’s not a troll’s place to decide whether another gets to live or die.” You intone and Terezi grins, throws her arms out in the direction you’re standing.

"S33? H4RML3SS FOR 4N 4DULT!" Terezi crows.

"8ut—"

"H4RML3SS!" Terezi repeats, slightly more braggish than before, then turns back to you. "SO WH4TS YOUR N4M3? TH3 GROUCHY? TH3 SHOUTY? TH3 DW33B? 1F K4RK4TS YOUR D3SC3ND4NT TH3N YOU GUYS H4V3 TO H4V3 SOM3TH1NG 1N COMMON!"

"Terezi that isn't how ancestors work and you know it!!!!!!!!" Vriska looks near moments from stomping her foot, and you don’t let yourself chuckle at the wriggler’s behavior. It would probably only wound her confidence if you laughed at her.

"I’m afraid I’m not familiar with any trolls named Karkat, nor with any descendants I might have." You tell Terezi instead.

You never gave the Mother Grub and genetic material for a descendant to come from, but you suppose that logical rules like that don’t apply to you, given that you’ve been dead for an uncountable amount of sweeps, live in a small pocket dimension created by the Horrorterrors themselves for your personal use, and now spend your time gossiping with wrigglers and alien children. That you’ve existed twice and somehow managed to die on both occasions.

Her mouth goes into an ‘O’ of surprise, hands pressed against her cheeks again. "NO W4Y."

You nod and give a slight smile. "In fact, yes way."

Terezi’s attention snaps back to Vriska in an instant, who still looks as if she’s fumed over the earlier comment. Highbloods do take their ancestors into very high accord, so it was likely she grew up with legends of her’s to guide her. Quite personal. It wasn’t your place to judge her traditions.

You could see it, actually, when you thought it over, rolled the idea through your mind. A name, signed in a messy cerulean signature that was only so easy to read after years of combing through her journals. Marquise.

Marquise Spinneret Mindfang.

Extravagant, lavish, _powerful_. A pirate, a criminal, a rebel, a troll for Vriska to mold her life after. She wielded magical dice—and the cane of her rival, after her rightful murder before His Honorable Tyranny—in battle and died in a rebellion. Her matesprit’s rebellion, the Summoner’s Rebellion.

You swallow the information down and collect yourself, concentrate back on the dreambubble’s reality.

"W3 H4V3 GOT TO 1NTRODUC3 TH3M." Terezi says. "TH3R3S NO W4Y W3 C4NT!"

It’s much easier to tell when Vriska rolls her eyes, if slightly grotesque with the seven pupiled one. "And just why is that? One Vantas on that fucking meteor is 8ad enough! I think I’d just save Lord English the trouble and cull myself if we got two of them together at once." She huffs. Vriska's wings move with her, the inhale and exhale. They flutter beautifully. "Don’t you reme8er what happened when he met Kankri?"

"UH DOY." She sticks out her tongue in amusement. "STUNN3D S1L3NC3."

You don’t mean to perk up at your own name, but you do. The rest of the terms try to flood you with memories that you force out. Not now, not yet. There are more important things to learn. Prioritize. "There’s a Kankri Vantas in these bubbles?"

"Yeah, 8ut he's a total wind8ag. Don’t even 8other going out to find him, he’ll just talk your ears off if you do."

"VR1SK4."

Vriska rolls her eyes again. "Whaaaaaaaat?" She whines. "You know I’m right! No one can stand to even 8e around that guy with how much he talks about all that social justice crap. I’ve only met the guy twice and I want to knock his teeth out just thinking a8out it!"

Well that doesn’t give you much encouragement. It sounds as if he has his heart in the right place, at least. You would still love to meet the troll you modeled your world out view on.

Terezi folds her arms. "4NYW4Y," She stresses the subject change more than you would think necessary. "W3 SHOULD GO W4K3 UP 4ND G3T K4RK4T, DR4G H1M B4CK OUT H3R3."

"Fiiiiiiiine." Vriska grumbles and reaches out, snatches Terezi hand out. "8ut you’re the one who’s going to explain to Strider where we’re taking his stupid moirail matesprit so he doesn’t 8low a gasket over it! Those losers are 8asically joined at the hip at this point."

A discolored face, not unlike Rose’s, hits your mind. No horns, no fangs, no claws. Another human, from John and Rose’s session of Sburb. Has your descendant formed quadrants with an alien? Interesting, indeed.

Terezi smiles, victorious. "F1N3." She turns back to you with a snap of her neck. "W3’LL B3 B4CK 1N 4 L1TTL3 TO BUG YOU SOM3 MOR3, SO DON'T G3T TOO COMFORT4BL3!" Then Terezi winks and they flicker, out of existence with a pop of white light; they wake up.

You never did get the chance to ask if they’re from the alpha timeline. Well, you suppose you can wait.


	5. The Land of Alloys and Difference

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is a short one, yeah. Sorry about that.

When Aradia returns, it isn’t the wriggler you meet sweeps of nothingness ago.

She isn’t a troll anymore, but a robotic shell stamped with an indigo symbol on the front of her bosom. Her body language screams with pent aggression—something you’d grown quick to picking up from trolls over the sweeps you preached—and her eyes are a spitting bright red, their glow illuminated against the silver of her body. She floats down beside you and inspects you. You assume, at least.

You question if robots can even die.

"the signless" The synthetic sound that comes somewhere from her chest isn’t Aradia’s voice but you nod anyway. There must be a reason for her transformation from a troll to a robot at some point, without that knowledge you have no right to judge her.

"I suppose that’s me, yes." You say.

Aradia glances around the bubble. Her fists clench and unclench. You wish you could ask her how she came to be, just what had replaced her living self with such an angry blueblood replacement. And why the blue blood itself? She never seemed the type to care. "g00d" She says eventually. Aradia tosses her synthetic hair, much flatter and straighter than the wild mane of the original, over her shoulder. You’re fixated by how smoothly her joints move.

And just like that, she takes off into the sky and exits the bubble, the slight pull sensation of her exit less violent than usual. You can’t say you’ve had a more puzzling interaction thus far.

That must be the so called ‘stray Aradiabot’ that she had mentioned when you first met one another. Ages ago, hm? Well, technically, your conversation with Aradia happened ages ago. She wasn’t wrong, at least.


	6. The Land of Age and Remembrance

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I mean, I'm just saying, it's weird that Neophyte Redglare doesn't get her full title in the tags.

This isn’t Terezi. That much is clear.

When she spots you her eyes triple in size behind her glasses and she drops into a bow, hand interlocked with the other troll’s and bringing him to his knees as well. Their heads drop into submission, and you wonder when the last time you saw a troll treat you like a deity was. You surely hadn’t missed it, that much was true. You were just the same as any other troll, you didn’t deserve such special treatment.

"S1r." The troll says. Her nose is inches from the ground. "1t 1s 4n honor."

The other, similarly low, nods almost excitedly. The brown wings from his back flutter back and forth, but he isn’t wearing one of the brightly colored outfits the other troll who possess them do. "most defin1tely." He breathes out. "...1 never thought 1’d see the day..."

You look between them and realize these are adults, just like you.

When was the last time you saw an actual adult, not a wriggler or an alien or a vision or a Horrorterror? You couldn’t remember.

"You may stand." You tell them. They’re slow to comply, as if unsure whether it was actually allowed to stand before you, but eventually their backs are straight enough for your satisfaction. "I suppose by that introduction, the two of you are familiar with me." You give a bitter smile. "Forgive me if we’ve met before, my memories of Alternia have started to fade after such a long time."

The female—who, when you look closely, not only shares physical similarities with the young Terezi but also her sign; curious—straightens in a flash of movement. "You h4v3 noth1ng to 4polog1ze for s1r!" She says hastily, her cheeks colored in embarrassment. "1t 1s us who should 4sk for your forg1vn3ss!"

You raise an eyebrow. "And just what is it you have to be sorry for?" You ask, gentle. There’s no reason to have them more riled up than they’ve already made themselves.

"W3..." Her head lowers again in shame. "W3 f41l3d your c4us3 s1r."

"How so?"

The troll’s shoulders tense. "1 w4s a cow4rd too 4fr41d to t4k3 4ct1on." She admits after a moment, then adds. "S1r."

"1 took up arms aga1nst the condesce 1n your name." The other tells you in a solemn tone; his wings are still. It doesn’t surprise you as much as you feel he thinks it should.

You look between their, heads bowed like barkbeasts and postures slumped like wrigglers who await a to be scolded by their lusii. It almost makes you want to sigh.

The female looks to be not much older than yourself, dressed in the imperial legislacerator garb, her teal blood evident. She’s almost militaristic in form, her spine rod straight even in the face of her depression. The brownblood troll looks almost as if he’s feral, as the Disciple was when you’d met. His hair is untamed and dyed an unnatural candy red, and his clothes are sewn with animal bones. He has the broad shoulders of a warrior, the calluses of a fighter.

Around both their necks are the same silver symbols, the shape most recognizable.

"I accept your apologies."

His head snaps up in surprise and his eyes stare at you a moment before he seems to remember himself. She doesn’t move but her mouth gapes at the ground.

"Now," You continue, and walk forward, take each of their shoulders in your hands and create one of the caves you had used as a temporary hive as a wriggler. It was the most cozy of them, you personally think. "Why don’t we all sit down and have a chat together? I would love for you both to tell me more about yourselves."

You aren’t sure how long you spend talking with Redglare and the Summoner, though you would like to credit that more so to the lack of a constant flow of time in the dreambubbles than your own vague-mindedness.

They start their stories hesitant and soft-voiced, tight-lipped. Perhaps starstruck. Once the Summoner finds himself situated and comfortable however, it’s almost difficult to have him stop. He’s quite lively for someone who is dead. You don’t mind his rambles and let his voice run free, immerse yourself in the world he weaves for your mind’s eye.

After your death, he tells you, your followers slunk into the background, underground, the shadows of Alternia; they formed the Cult of the Signless Sufferer. A gaudy name in your opinion, but you suppose that doesn’t matter. Their temples laid in ruins, their gospels in silence, their holy books in tattered ribbons. To be seen with the sign of the Sufferer was to commit treason. Thousands took to the betrayal of the Empire nonetheless.

Once, a long time ago, a brownblood was born, mutated and left for death outside the caverns. Trolls known throughout the lowblood community as the Grayhoods—hemoanonymous—took him from the arms of death and nurtured him, raised the wriggler on tales of a figure, a single troll with words like gold and blood like fire. He was admitted into the cult at two sweeps.

Tall cloaked trolls, eyes hidden by goggles and horns draped in cloth to hide their shape, blood, and signs cast aside, were never what you’d expected as a result of your movement, in the least.

Then he became inspired, climbed the ranks of the Grand Highblood as a cavalreaper, and started a revolution. Then it failed. Then he murdered his matesprit under her psychic control, and then he died of old age, secluded in the depths of Alternia’s wilderness.

You can picture her, dressed in bright cerulean blue and spiderwebs, her hair a long nest down her back and her horns polished sharp. Teeth bared. Her skin is almost as cold as her persona, but short moments of unconventional highblood warmth flash through, moments of pure pity, true serendipity. Aranea, once known as the Marquise Spinneret Mindfang, seems as if she had been quite the troll.

All you can think of is Vriska, and it makes you want to chuckle a little to yourself. Oh how things inevitably come to make themselves into a full circle.

"from what 1’ve been told my revolution conv1nced the condesce to k1ck all adults off planet." He looks away, like he isn’t sure if he should be ashamed or proud, isn't sure whether you think he should be ashamed or proud. "...all of ‘em go stra1ght to the fleet now..."

You nod.

Neophyte Redglare—who stiffly requests you call her Latula, her voice thick with worry and her face bright with teal until you smile and assure her, rub her shoulder softly—is much less telling than her companion. She skims through a bland wrigglerhood, doesn’t speak much of her time in Legislacerator training, but mentions that the Summoner’s matesprit had once been a pirate, who wrecked havoc upon trolls as a society. Latula tells you that the Marquise had been her first assignment, given to her by the very own moirail, who goes unnamed. It had also been her last.

She doesn’t elaborate as to why. You know better than to prod.

You ask them both of your family, of the Dolorosa and the Disciple and the Psiioniic, but neither can tell you much.

The Summoner offers encouragement, says that many of the scriptures he was raised with were written by the Disciple herself after your demise, that she had somehow escaped execution by Darkleer’s bow. It gives you more hope than you’d had in eternity.

"Th3r3 4r3 more l1k3 us 1n th3 bubbl3s s1r. 4dults, the 4nc3stors of the ch1ldr3n who pl4y3d th1s...g4m3." Neophyte Latula waves her hand in a vauge circle, motions to the world around the three of you. "1t would b3 f41r to 4ssum3 that thos3 of your 1nn3r c1rcl3 would b3 h3r3 4lso. 1 would k33p f41th." 

"Thank you. I will do my best." You look up, at the dark skies of a cavalreaper training grounds. The ground is even dustier than the grublands, something you’d never think you would see. The Summoner has quite the vivid memories of his camp. "Have you met any other adults aside from one another? Or perhaps others of your bloodlines?"

"well no not really." The Summoner’s wings glitter when he shrugs. You would almost expect them to drop pixie dust when they moved. "there's no other n1trams that 1’ve seen at least. and you're the only other troll past t1tl1ng day we've found."

Her gaze goes distant behind the colored glasses, out over the vast hoofbeast fields. "Th3r3 w4s 4 g1rl who sh4r3d my n4m3." Latula says.

You perk. "How was she?"

You can remember the teal text the best from Beforus; the warmth and the jealousy and the guilt that followed had always left a bitter taste in your mouth when you thought of it. The Neophyte’s alternative self had been something special to your own, and perhaps always one of the trolls you’d been most curious about.

Latula takes a moment to respond. "...Sh3 1s..." Her voice pauses and she swivels her head to duck away from your eyes. "Sh3’s h4ppy. Sh3 l1v3d h3r l1f3 b3tt3r th4n 1 3v3r could."

You nod and look to the sky. "I think they all did."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Remember, if you have any suggestions leave them in a comment. All ancestors are still off limits, but everyone else is fair game. I'm open to your recommendations.


	7. The Land of Tides and Comrades

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I finally figured out that yes, there's another bright red that I can use for the Sufferer's type other then Dave's. I've went back through and switched it all to Kankri's since then. So exciting, I know.

"I’m afraid this might s+ound a bit silly," Porrim says to you, leaned against a computer module. "But I’ll need y+ou to pretend as if y+ou are Karkat Vantas."

Maybe once, a long time again, you would have fallen into a panic if you’d seen another Maryam, as you did when caught glimpses of a half-deceased Sollux Captor all that time ago. You could perhaps have cried and hugged the poor girl, whomever she may be, overstepped boundaries that had not yet even been set.

You like to think that you’ve progressed past that point of your afterlife.

This troll might have been your Mother in one universe, but in her’s you are her friend, her equal, and you are not an adult. You are Kankri Vantas and though at the moment nothing scares you more than the idea of delving into her memories of him, you know she considers you a close friend, someone to watch and scold, care for. Not much has changed between Beforus and Alternia, you suppose.

"I’m not sure how well I’ll be able to perform that task." You admit, and look around the laboratory you’ve found yourself in. It’s a dull gray, dank and cold. "I’ve never met him before."

She smiles at you, fanged teeth and a ring of metal through her lip. It suits her. "That just makes it all the m+ore fun, d+oesn’t it?"

You’ve never welcomed someone to the afterlife before, but you’ve heard stories of it from the other ghost you talk with. They’re usually disoriented and most don’t immediately realize they’re dead. Something akin to roleplaying is usually used to help them remember their death, a tactic usually more gentle than the other alternatives; to pretend to kill them again had apparently been the common method for some time.

You’ve never roleplayed before, not in all your sweeps. Surely, it can’t be that hard.

All you must do is work off of memories, place yourself in the position of your descendant. It’s only for a short while, you’re sure.

The deceased in question is a seatroll by the name of Feferi Piexes, her body strewn across what looks to be a pile of two-wheeled device horns with a hole through the majority of your chest. The image makes your own feel heavy. You were aware the trolls of the Alternia session murdered one another in cold blood, but you had never seen the aftermath before. Just felt the sensations of it.

You had only ever seen the Condescension once in the flesh, just moments before your execution, and even with just that small glimpse you can recognize the similarities. Feferi is a spitting image of the Empress, most definitely. You might even be intimidated by her if you didn't know any better.

Her body begins to move though, seals itself closed and seems to absorb the blood around her, shuffles around with her wide open eyes now fluttered shut.

Then the room spins into motion.

The only imprints you had ever seen before were your own, of the Dolorosa and the Psiioniic and the Disciple. This one, it seemed, was Feferi’s.

A second troll appears on the horn pile with her, and it’s the youngest of the Captors, his black and white eyes replaced with red and blue glasses.

Porrim winks when her own appearance shifts, to a young wriggler girl not too unlike herself, dressed pleasantly and seated before a computer in one of the corners of the room. You don’t feel yourself change in appearance so much as know you do, but you can’t find it in yourself to look into the reflection of the screen before you to see just what Karkat looks like.

And then Feferi breathes again.

"Sea? You’re always so CRABBY!" Feferi leans into the shadow of Sollux’s arm, smiles at him. It feels inappropriate just to watch them. "MAYB---E if you carped aboat )(ow you eel wit)( me we would )(AV-E this problem so muc)(!"

His face turns almost mustard and he tries to lean away. "don’t 2ay 2tuff liike that 2o loud." He complains.

Porrim goes into action then, moving from her computer and walking towards you. Feferi and Sollux follow her with their eyes. "Karkat Ill Be Leaving For A Short While" She announces to you, the pronunciation of her words suddenly proper and stilted, a smooth curve over her words that has more airs of elegance than Porrim seemed to bother with.

The name Kanaya reaches through to your mind, but nothing much else follows.

You stare at her, unsure as to what to do. You’d be embarrassed if you weren’t so lost.

"I'm Returning To The Core To Deposit The Matriorb" Porrim smoothly continues, as if you’d responded. "Wish Me Luck" She smiles at you, almost as fanged as before.

Word hit you then, and you try your best not to be startled by them and instead simply follow along. "WOAH WHA, WHAT THE FUCK?” Your voice bursts out much hardier than you’d expected and you stutter in surprise. "I MEAN, THAT’S GREAT, IF THAT’S WHAT YOU WANT TO DO WITH IT. BUT YOU CAN’T GO RIGHT NOW, I NEED YOU HERE. LOOK AROUND, SHIT IS MAYHEM.”

You hadn’t expected such crass language so casually slipped into his vocabulary. It seems your descendant has many surprises in store for you, and you haven’t even met him yet! Perhaps you should be more excited for the supposed day that Terezi and Vriska will return.

Porrim frowns at you and crosses her arms. "Ill Only Be Gone A Few Minutes" It’s more of an exasperated mumble than an actual defense. "I Think You Can Cope With My Momentary Absence"

A thought pushes its way to the forefront of your mind, and it isn’t yours.

_No I can’t._

Shudders run through you, and you suddenly want to stop. Learning through memories may be fine, but this feels unfairly intrusive, wrong. You’re not digging through his memories, you’re digging through his thoughts. You don’t know Karkat. Feferi must be able to manage on a different memory without him in it, you can’t, you need to stop.

You suck down air and her eyebrows subtly raises. You want to shake your head at her but can't. "OK FINE." Your throat says instead. "IN THAT CASE—"

"O)( my GLUB!" Feferi squeals, and hops to her feet. The pile honks in protest. "T)(is is FINTASTIC!!!"

The breath rushes out of you, and the amount of relief you feel at Feferi breaking character is overwhelming, ridiculous. You mentally scold yourself, for acting so wrigglerish.

Both you and Porrim turn to her, in time to watch the bright and lively gold and black of her eyes fade white. She’s smiling as if she’s never been happier, with teeth displayed in a way that would usually be meant to press for intimidation. You can tell that with her this isn’t the case. Sollux blows away in a stream of smoke.

"It seems y+ou’ve caught +on." Porrim says, and her appearance fades back to how it had been. You can feel yours do the same. "Faster than m+ost d+o, I must say."

"Of course I did! I just can’t B--ER--E--EF I’m D---EAD! O)( my cod!!"

You can’t help but note how she doesn’t sound upset in the slightest. This isn’t exactly the reaction you would expect from someone freshly murdered by a close friend, but you suppose you aren’t much of one to judge.

"Y+ou and Meenah have m+ore in c+omm+on than I’d given credit for."

"O)( PL---EASE!" Feferi waves a hand at her, face still stretched into a wide grin. "I’m nofin pike )(er! S)(e’s a total beac)( too everyone JUST for t)(e )(alibut!"

Porrin shakes her head and chuckles. "I meant m+ore s+o in reference t+o the b+oth of y+our reacti+ons t+o the disc+overy that y+ou were dead. They’re quite similar, identical even."

Feferi almost scowls, but then she finally looks at you, really actually stops to look. You’ve never met an heiress before, and for a moment you wish to bow, but then you remember the Summoner and Latula and you think better of it. You have been worshiped from your sermons, but she must have been faced with special treatment since she was hatched.

"You’re knot Karcrab.” She says. It feels more like a question. Feferi’s face brightens in recognition after a moment. "You’re an adult, and if you’re out )(ERE in my dreambubbles t)(en t)(at...t)(at means YOU’R---E the SUFF-----ER-----ER!!!"

"You know of me?"

"W)(y wouldn’t I?! I mast )(ave read everyt)(ing aboat your rebellion back w)(en I was a wriggler, foam all t)(e books aboat you!"

Porrim looks at her. "The Sufferer’s Rebelli+on was cens+ored from all Alternia literature. H+ow w+ould y+ou kn+ow ab+out him?" She asks, pierced eyebrow raised. You share the sentiment.

"O)(." Feferi pauses, blinks. "Whale, as )(eiress I was allowed to know aboat bassically anyfin I wanted to. If it was banned t)(an I cod just mako t)(em give it too me, because of my reputation. No one was allowed to debait wit)( me." Her small shoulders shrug. "It’s total culls)(it and reelly unfair, but t)(ere was nofin I could do aboat it."

Porrim huffs a breath of laughter. "H+ow familiar. An heiress given everything she wants whenever she wants it."

"CLAM IT!!!" Feferi snaps, then she laughs and waves at her. Porrim just smiles. She spins back to you, bouncing off the ground. "I )(ave so many questions Mr Signless! Pike waterboat your relations)(ip with the Psiioniic! Morayeels, rig) (t? All of the Disciple’s texts made it sound just like S--ER--ENDIPITY!!!" She claps her hands together and coos. "O)( cod, I am just GLUBBING right now!!"

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We'll keep up with this line of conversation for the next chapter but for now I think I'll cut it. I can only write so many fish puns in a day.


End file.
